


Free Fall

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, you’re drowning in a sea of discolored granny panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I tried something a little different with this fic, and I really hope it turned out all right. A bit nervous writing for this fandom. Comments would be lovely! Enjoy!

On the outside, you used to wear killer lingerie. Lacy bras and matching panties, stockings with seams, lace-edged thigh-highs, sexy garters… If you try hard enough, you can almost remember the delicious scratch of your favorite lace and satin bra against your breasts. You had made a ritual of caring for your delicates, lovingly washing each item and preparing them for the next time they would be worn. 

Now, you’re drowning in a sea of discolored granny panties. 

Some days, you tune out the menial task of working in the Litch’s laundry room and imagine that lingerie. You’d imagine how you would look wearing it—how your breasts would strain against a leather corset, how crazy good your ass would look in boyshorts, how your legs would stretch on for days in fishnets. You’d imagine who you’d be seducing while you wore it, a sexy librarian or a punk junkie or a wide-eyed, blonde WASP. You’d imagine how it would look on the floor of your loft…

Other days, using your imagination is just fucking depressing. 

You fold a standard issue bra, the same make and model as the one you’re currently wearing, and drop it atop a pile of sorted laundry. You sigh. Maybe it’s time to stop trading your antidepressants. 

Turning your attention to a stack of still-warm beige tops, you begin to fold, vowing to burn every single beige item of clothing that you encounter when you finally get out. Sometimes your imagination just needs to be channeled a little differently—rage can do that to a person. 

You can almost smell the smoke. 

Hey—at least your imagination isn’t dead. 

You hear the faintest creak behind you; the squeak of a boot. Your shoulders tense up, but you don’t pause. Another day it might have been cute, or even sweet, but today you’re not in the mood. “I know you’re there, Piper.” 

The blonde gives a lofty huff and a whine. “Aww…you ruined the moment! I was gonna sneak up behind you, cover your eyes, be all ‘guess who’…” 

“And smudge my glasses?” 

Piper comes up beside you, jutting her hip against the steel table. “ _No_ …I was gonna seduce you with my mystery and charm.” She even goes as far as to wiggle her eyebrows, an exaggerated acknowledgment of her ridiculousness. 

You’re not really in the mood for ridiculous today, and so you continue to fold. “Pipes, you can’t sneak for shit.” You try for sardonic, but all that comes out is vitriol. 

“I can totally sneak.” 

There are days when you can’t help but find her charming, irresistible, endearing…the butterflies you still harbor for her give a half-hearted flutter in your stomach—traitorous fuckers. You wish you could allow yourself to be pulled into her warm little bubble, but it feels wrong to follow her there. As nice as it feels to blissfully avoid reality, you know it’s bullshit. Pretending isn’t doing either of you any favors. 

At least your depression is real. You’re not a wallower, but allowing yourself to actually feel the bitter, harsh reality of incarceration and the sting of negative consequences is a painfully necessary part of the process. It keeps you alive. It keeps you fighting. It’s what prompts you to look her in the eye and say, “Like you’re sneaking right now, behind your man’s back?” 

Piper recoils as if she’s been slapped. “Ouch, Alex. What the hell was that for?” 

You shrug. You look away from her then because you know if you look at her for too long, you’ll be sucked right back in. Most days, you’re willing to go along with her selfish, self-serving agenda because you’re only human—no one can endure this kind of punishment without comfort or some semblance of affection. 

You’re not going to kid yourself—falling once more for Piper’s crap was not the smartest thing you’ve ever done. You _know_ you’re setting yourself up to be abandoned again. You can see it coming. You’re free falling toward the cold, hard ground, and the net has been taken away. At least when she left you the first time, you had the luxury of staying as far away from her as you wanted. Now, there’s nowhere to hide. 

The silence gnaws at you. You roll the words around your mouth, tasting them, weighing them. You could tell her that you’re sorry and wipe that sad look off her face. You could coddle her and tell her that you’re PMSing. You could tell her to fuck off. 

You can’t say any of those things because the reality remains the same. You love her, all of her—her naiveté, her selfishness, her bullshit. You know that, in her way, she loves you too, but you’re not an idiot. You know that her love is conditional. It’s temporary. 

“Fine, then. I guess you don’t have anything to say.” She stares at you for a moment longer, and then she heads for the door. 

You don’t hear her leave. You don’t turn around; you don’t have to look because you know she’s already gone. You give a self-deprecating laugh because you were wrong: Piper _is_ good at sneaking around. She managed to sneak back into your heart, and you know that she’s going to sneak away again before you’re ready to say goodbye. 

You take a bracing breath and force your thoughts back to the endless pile of drab tan uniforms in front of you. This is it. This is your life now. Piper will come and go as she pleases. Your incarceration won’t last forever. Your heart hurts a little. You take another breath, hold it in your lungs, and release it slowly. 

You think of your lingerie—the new lingerie you’ll own when you get out. There’s no point in looking back. At least, if you’re free falling, you’re still moving forward. 

\---


End file.
